Thursday, April 25, 2013


I may have mentioned that HR is turning three soon. Saturday, to be specific. It feels like a much more serious thing to be a mother to a three-year-old than a two-year-old. But that's fantastic. Three is, like, a real kid. Not that he hasn't been real all along, just that he's been more of us and who we are and what we do as parents than he's been himself. Now the Mr. Independent show has begun. As I wrote when he made the leap to the big boy bed (and the leap out, twice last night, thankfully the bed is close to the ground and Mike had the foresight to leave pillows there), I do harbor some sentimentality as his babyhood grows smaller in the rear view. But I'm mostly just thrilled I get to hang out with this guy, the guy he's becoming, every day. Even in his most challenging moments. I intend to write a letter to HR like I've done the past two years, but maybe only in private. At the very least, not until after his actual birthday.

I've got big plans for the coming weekend, so let's get down to it.

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